


Out to Make It Count

by tanyart



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is hard when you're the daughter of the absolute ruler of Camorr's underworld.  It's even harder when you're fourteen and grounded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out to Make It Count

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laliandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laliandra/gifts).



Nazca liked to think that she was no longer the willfully spoiled, six year-old little girl perched on her father’s lap, but after a week of being confined to the Floating Grave on account of reckless transgressions into what was perhaps not the safest of parts of Camorr, she felt as if it wouldn’t entirely be out of place if she started kicking the shins of her poor guards in a fit.  It was bad enough both her bothers had the freedom to romp about city without so much of a blink from their father’s eyes, but whatever leniency the _capa_ granted for Anjais and Parchero he seemed to make up entirely on Nazca instead. 

She could complain about the unfairness of it all until she was blue in the face and it was, much to her chagrin, her own damn fault that she did so and ended up receiving double the sentence time for her troubles.  The only drop of satisfaction she was able to muster from the whole ordeal was the knowledge that her father did not come out of the argument unscathed either – before she had stormed out of the room Nazca heard the clink of glass of a tall drink poured and the murmur of ‘ _were you ever like this at her age?_ ’ to her mother, and then her mother’s wry confirmation.

So, no, Nazca wasn’t the tantrum-throwing six year old anymore, but by the Crooked Warden she was _fourteen,_ and she was sure the thirteenth god would appreciate her doing _something_ —such as prematurely breaking out her imprisonment against her father’s direct orders.

“Call over Locke for me,” she said the moment she caught Anjais and Pachero in the family’s private dining room.  It was early afternoon and they had no business cramming leftover breakfast in their faces and looking as if they had slept the morning away on account of late night drinking.  She ignored their bleary starts and sat across of them.

“Didn’t papa ground you?” Pechero asked warily.  

“Yes, but what does bringing over Locke have to do with it?”

Anjais wagged his spoon at her.  “Don’t think we don’t know what you’re up to, Nazca.  Father explicitly stated you are not to have company or, really, any kind of outside fun.”

“We figured you conspiring something with Locke might contradict father’s terms of… of _groundedness_ ,” Pechero added, brushing the bread crumbs from his mouth.

Nazca straightened in her chair, the iron tips of her boots clicking against the ground.  “Outside fun?  Is that what papa said?  Then I suppose you two can help pass the time and spar with me since I can’t go out.”

“Nazca, we’ve got things to do.  We can’t _play_ with you, especially not with that threatening tone, young lady.  Mother didn’t raise you to make unseemly coercions.”

“Completely true, Anjais,” Nazca sniffed and lifted her chin.  “Father did.”

Pechero grudgingly muttered into his coffee, “And we are _so_ very proud.”

She grinned.  “On that line of thought, I’ve got a list I can give papa and mama that would make you two _wish_ you could only be confined to the Floating Grave for a mere few weeks like me.”

Both Anjais and Pechero winced.

Nazca smiled triumphantly and stood up from her chair.

“And while you two are at it, bring Sabetha as well.”

* * *

There was something much more satisfying in being self-sufficient, but Nazca figured trying to sneak out of the Basarvi household required additional assistance, even if she was the _capa’s_ daughter herself—or perhaps _especially_ if she was the _capa’s_ daughter.  As much as she disliked throwing around the family name for the sake of it, Nazca did realize the importance of utilizing the full skill set of her own _pezon_

“And how much trouble will I be getting myself into if I do this?” asked Locke, leaning against the wall and looking out into the main hallway entrance.

“None, if you don’t get caught.”

Locke’s brow went up, but there was no use hiding the small hitch at the corner of his mouth.  “And what makes you think we won’t get caught?”

Nazca rolled her eyes.  “Locke, I _know_ you and your lot are much too clever to be _only_ breaking into houses.  You don’t strike me as the lift and snatch kind of thief.  I can imagine how boring that sort of work might get with a mind like yours.”

Locke never gave her the precise details of what actual work the Gentleman Bastards did, but Nazca had the feeling she was better off not knowing.  Her papa seemed to favor Chains well enough to not inquire too much into it at any rate.

“Why are you so keen to piss off your father anyhow?”

It was a good, legitimate question.  Nasca spent all of two seconds mulling it over in her head before she crossed her arms.  “Haven’t you ever felt like being self-righteously disobedient?”

“A couple of times,” confessed Locke.  “When I was perhaps five, and look where that got me.”

“Becoming my first _pezon_?”

Locke grinned.  “I was going to elaborate and say ‘ _with a sharktooth around my neck’_ , but you said it with _much_ better severity.”

Nasca shook her head, but returned his grim with a smile of her own.  “And is there a particular reason why you seem hesitant to do me a favor?  If so, I’m sure Sabetha will be more than willing to help me instead.”

“If you’re so sure then why not ask her first?”

“I like to give my first _pezon_ first choice to decide whether or not he’ll stay in my good graces.”

“Ah,” he sighed, “the grandest of perks.”

“If I am to be grounded then I want it to count,” Nazca said, leaning in and grabbing hold onto the front of his shirt.  She tugged it, once, and lowered her voice.  “Get me out of here, Locke.”

Locke frowned, sighed, and then nodded; “I’ll check with Sabetha first.”

* * *

“Yes, of course I agreed to it,” Sabetha said, standing behind her on the gondola.  She eased her control on the paddle and let the rest of the canal’s current do most of the work.  “Locke probably thinks I’m only doing it to aggravate him but, begging your pardon, it’s not right for your father to keep you under lock and key less so than your brothers.”

Nazca grinned, adjusting the straps of her borrowed coat and gloves.  The clothes were ordinary things, could have been lifted from anywhere, but Sabetha had even come with alchemical dye and done up Nazca’s black hair to auburn brown with practiced ease.  “You seem to have a similar problem.”

The gondola bumped gently against a secluded dock, and if Sabetha had flashed a dozen hand signals before she hopped on, Nazca wasn’t inclined to comment.  The Floating Grave was behind her now and somehow the Gentleman Bastards had assured her she could have the entire night out—in which, Locke had added that it would even be preferable that she did.

“Well,” said Sabetha, holding out her hand for Nazca to take. “Let’s just say I know a thing or two about glass ceilings.”

Laughing wryly, Nazca grabbed on and Sabetha hauled her up onto the dark streets of Camorr.


End file.
